


Cutwork

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bukkake, Comeplay, Furry, Lingerie, M/M, Oral Sex, Smauglock, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4372334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dwarves send Ori down as an offering to distract Smaug from Bilbo, without properly considering just how distracting Smaug can be himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cutwork

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dwarves in Panties](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/129746) by Hattedhedgehog. 



> A/N: Inspired by [this gorgeous picture](http://hattedhedgehog.tumblr.com/post/102403399452/i-coloured-some-of-my-lecture-doodles)! Check out [hattedhedgehog’s blog](http://hattedhedgehog.tumblr.com/) for more delicious Dwarven lingerie pics. ;)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s been a very strange quest for Bilbo on the whole, complete lack of climax strategies aside. At times, he did stop to think what _would_ they do when they came to the dragon, but he always brushed it aside with the assumption—the _hope_ —that the dwarves had some semblance of a plan. As the quest went on, it seemed less and less likely. 

And now Bilbo’s finding out they do, in fact, have some knowledge of dragon lore, and they did, miraculously, come prepared. It’s just not all the sort of preparation Bilbo ever expected to witness. 

Despite his attempts to sneak off and bury his face in his hands, blushing hotly, he’s kept in the fray of it—Thorin sits him down on a rock and talks to him sideways. Most of the dwarves are concentrating on Ori, the others weeding through their supplies, weighing out their weapon options. At first, Bilbo tried to look directly up at the clear blue sky and not at the scene playing out before him, but as the preparations go on, it becomes clear that Ori doesn’t mind Bilbo’s gaze. He steps out of the puddle of knitwear at his feat, Kíli pulling it aside and folding it up, and Fíli tries to smooth out the light purple frills along his hips. There’s very little fabric other than these frills covering Ori’s body—all his clothes have been stripped away, leaving a thin pair of purple panties cupping his crotch. He holds his arms across his plump chest, soft palms covering his nipples, and Bilbo would think it was to hide his nakedness, but from the pleasant expression on Ori’s face, it seems only to be combating the cold. It’s windy up the mountain, where they camped just beside the opened door, the key back on Thorin’s belt. Thorin’s half turned to Ori, supervising his stripping, and says distractedly to Bilbo, “It’s a good thing you found that ring. If we had the jewels of old to put around Ori’s neck, we might not have needed it, but the people of Dale are poorer and the Master is greedier than once was, so it’s good to have something else to keep attention off you.”

Bilbo couldn’t imagine anyone paying attention to him with Ori on the table. Even if Ori weren’t one step away from naked, Bilbo’s always found him oddly attractive, cute and sweet but still a _dwarf_ —a slight hint of wildness behind his eyes. Though none of the dwarves have clear skin, Ori’s face is the most freckled, intricate and interesting, the short scruff of a beard highlighting his gentle features. He often wears two braids in his front, just over his ears, and more in the back, but now Balin and Dori stand behind him, tying purple bows onto the ends to match his underwear. His round belly spills just over the lip of his tight panties, dusted with light fur that grows thicker in the middle of the hemline. The panties obscure the colouring of his crotch, but not the shape, and Bilbo forcibly tears his eyes away as Thorin continues, “Send him in first, just in case—even though the beast won’t know the smell of hobbit, he might notice something awry. Don’t get too close to the gold until his attention’s on Ori and he’s shrunk down. If the legends are true, he’ll become something like a Man, still tall but much more manageable than a dragon’s true form, and he won’t have as strong nostrils and eyes.”

“We should rush down and take him then,” Dwalin grunts, but Thorin shoots him a stern look, not a glare but a we’ve-been-through-this sort of thing. 

“We wouldn’t be enough, even if we still had the wizard, to take him before he transformed back. No. We’ll need the Arkenstone for that, to show the rest of our people it’s a fight worth joining.”

And that’s where Bilbo comes in, he knows. He’s the burglar, which he always knew, only now it’s become clear that he isn’t to fetch a smattering of treasure but one specific, special gemstone that’ll crown Thorin the king he is. On the one hand, it’s a relief to think he won’t be going down alone, and there’ll be something to turn Smaug’s eyes away. On the other hand...

“Is this really safe for Ori?” Bilbo mumbles, even though he knows that Thorin would never risk one of his company if it weren’t absolutely necessary. Ori looks at Bilbo, then down again as Fíli kneels before him, lifting up one of his legs. Ori’s broad foot sits on Fíli’s knee as Fíli scrunches a pair of sheer purple stockings onto him. Nori’s already trying the matching garter around Ori’s waist, just above his panties, his fat holing it up and the straps dangling, ready to be clipped to the stockings. The lingerie fits well on him, and Bilbo has to wonder if these were purchased in Lake-town, or if Ori’s been carrying them all the way from the Blue Mountains. 

“It would be better to send princes,” Kíli says, frowning at the side. Fíli glances at him, sharing the dismal look, and Bilbo imagines that the two brave, albeit reckless, dwarves wish they were going instead. But Thorin shakes his head with finality.

“It’s true that dragons like royalty, but they also like innocent maidens, and you too are anything but. We can’t afford to underestimate him. You wouldn’t fool him for a minute.”

Kíli grins like he knows—he radiates mischievousness sometimes, but Fíli wrinkles his nose. When he glances up at Ori, there’s a sad fondness in his eyes, and Ori offers a small, hopeful smile back, as if to say he’ll be alright. “Ori will be fine,” Balin adds, finishing up a bow at the back of Ori’s ruddy brown hair. “He’s a good lad. If Smaug’s hungry, it’s more likely he’ll come out to see what warriors he can find than a sweet scribe presenting himself.”

“Those panties are too nice to ruin anyway,” Bofur says cheerfully—always picking the others up. Nori snorts, and with a wink, Bofur adds, “and I’m not just saying that because they’re my design.” Bilbo looks at him curiously, embarrassed and impressed all at once—these are dwarves of many talents.

When the stockings are up and fastened, Fíli and Nori step away, and Balin and Dori soon follow. Ori stands in the middle of them, and he drops his hands behind his back, as if displaying himself for inspection. His cheeks flush, but the shyness is understandable, and he still doesn’t seem as horribly uncomfortable as Bilbo would be in such an ensemble, in front of witnesses, anyway. Thorin crosses his arms and puts his thumb under his chin, looking Ori up and down. Several others are sizing him up, and Bilbo pretends to do the same, if only for an excuse to stare. This sort of thing would _never_ happen in the Shire. Ori fidgets under their collective, heated gaze, until Thorin turns back to Bilbo.

“When the dragon appears as a man, search for the Arkenstone,” he says gravely, to Bilbo’s quick nod. “Ori will do everything he can to distract Smaug, but dragons have impressive stamina, and we only have one suitable offering, so you must be quick. You’ll know the Arkenstone when you see it. As soon as you have it, get out of there.”

Bilbo’s halfway through another nod before he realizes, “Hang on—what about Ori?”

“We’ll rescue him when we have Dáin’s army behind us,” Thorin growls, the familiar fire coming to his eyes when he speaks of his people and reclaiming his home. “With that stone, many great warriors will rally to us, and together, we’ll crush that foul worm.”

Bilbo isn’t so sure, but Ori throws in, “It’s alright, Bilbo.” His blush deepening, he mumbles, “I’ve been thinking about it quite a lot, actually. They say dragons...” but he trails off, so Bilbo never learns what else they say of dragons. The others look convinced, though there’s some worry on Fíli’s and Dori’s faces. Thorin seems sure, and that’s enough for Bilbo. He sighs, trying to be brave, and slips off his rock. Ori moves towards him, not that much taller. 

They head towards the open doorway, and Thorin follows them, waiting at the edge. He puts his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, reassuring and strong, and Bilbo almost clasps it in his own, wishing he had that sort of surety, of courage. Instead, he just drinks in Thorin’s regal confidence. Ori shivers beside him. Bilbo slips out of Thorin’s hand, turning to walk down the stairs. 

It’s dark, at first. The end of the corridor’s black, downwards, but the sunlight’s pale behind them and lights the way. Bilbo doesn’t mind the hard stone underfoot, but it’s the first time he’s seen a dwarf go barefooted on a hike. The stockings don’t seem like much protection. Under his breath, maybe sensing Bilbo’s fear, Ori repeats, “I’m alright.” Bilbo doesn’t know how he possible could be. Being offered to a dragon... suddenly, burglar doesn’t seem like such a bad occupation. But then, dwarves have always been more open. Yet Smaug’s a different _species_. Bilbo stumbles, lost in confused thought, and Ori catches him, straightens him up, and they move on. 

Once they’ve rounded the corridor, Bilbo feels in his pocket, the ring cool and pleasant against his trembling flesh. He slips it on, vanishing in an instant; he can see it in Ori’s surprised gasp. Bilbo says, “I’m still here,” and kicks a pebble to prove it. Bilbo can’t see much of Ori’s nod. 

The sunlight disappears quickly. Soon they’re moving in the dark, one of Bilbo’s hands on the wall and the other in Ori’s. Neither of them have ever been to Erebor, but the way Thorin speaks of it, it must be beautiful. Maybe Ori can rival that in Smaug’s eye. Bilbo’s conscious of not bumping into Ori; the brush of bare skin might undo him. It’s been a long time since he’s had _that_ , and although he’s never been an overtly sexual creature—he doesn’t touch himself a fraction as much as his rowdy companions—he’s not quite opposed to it. He’d thought, at first, there’d be no temptation on the road—dwarves tend to be big, too hard, and hairy, even by hobbit standards, and all the elves and Men have been too waif-like. But Ori isn’t so towering compared to Bilbo, and his hand is soft and warm in Bilbo’s, like all of his body would likely be. Thinking of his ripe belly held down beneath his garter makes Bilbo shiver—perhaps he wouldn’t mind feeling the tender squish of Ori’s plump body. He would’ve thought, growing up in a stricter place, that men in lingerie would be unappealing, but it was a surprisingly alluring sight, and makes him wonder, completely by accident, what some of the other dwarves might look like. Do Fíli and Kíli, young and adventurous as they are, wear bright thongs beneath their clothes? Nori and Bofur are thinner than the others—are they in corsets? And what would Thorin look like, his taut muscles tied around the middle and his downy legs covered in silken lace? Would his package be too big, strain too much against the delicate fabric, or could Bofur make him something pretty enough to attract a hobbit’s eye but strong enough to hold a dwarf’s mammoth shaft?

Not that Bilbo has any inclination how large Thorin is. Only his guilty imaginings. He tries to shake it off, but feeling Ori’s warmth in the palm of his hand makes it difficult. He opens his mouth to talk, say something, anything that’ll give him other thoughts, but he can’t think of a single thing besides scantily clad dwarves. 

Eventually, they find a faint, orange-yellow glow around the end of one corridor, and they beeline for it past crumbled pillars. The light grows brighter the further they go, first dim and tantalizing, then enough to move freely by, then invasive and everywhere, the ceiling shimmering like the reflections off a lake. Gold and fire, Bilbo thinks, but it’s hard to tell. The air’s become thicker, hotter, and Ori isn’t shivering anymore. They come into a large, open room that echoes with each step, even Bilbo’s hushed ones. It’s getting stuffy in his coat. He thinks he can hear Ori’s breath coming a little faster, and near the end of the hall, Ori murmurs excitedly, “This is it.” Even though Ori’s a dwarf, and dwarves are patently reckless, it startles Bilbo. He’s half glad that Ori isn’t terrified, and half terrified on Ori’s behalf. Maybe Smaug will simple collect Ori: an offering no different than any of his inanimate trinkets. But maybe he’ll... _use_... Ori, and that thought makes Bilbo gulp and burn all over. They turn the corner, head down one more corridor, and then they see the opening at the end, and they know they’ve found the heart of it all. 

They move forward anyway, Ori a bit quicker and Bilbo hurrying to keep up, fumbling with Ori’s hand. They’re high up, and they reach a set of twisted stairs, winding down, ornate and beautiful with elaborate railings, high pillars all around and openings and stairways everywhere. A few sconces are lit along the sparkling columns, and when Bilbo looks straight down, the entire floor is covered in a sea of _gold_ , coins and jewels and every sort of treasure imaginable piled high. But what catches him the most is _Smaug_.

He stops abruptly, and Ori halts with him, the two of them peering over the edge at the giant mass of crimson scales curled up beneath them. Bilbo knew, of course, that the dragon would be huge, but he wasn’t prepared for the truth of it, the sheer _enormity_ of the ancient creature. Smaug, unmistakable, is perched lazily atop his bed of riches, his long neck lifted and his great muzzle pointing up at them. His eyes, golden and alive with flame, watch the newcomers, the twisted line of his lips curved up in a mockery of a smile. His great, leathery wings are folded along his body, his spiked tailed curled along the hills. Bilbo’s heart is hammering in his chest. Even though he knows, intellectually, that he can’t be seen, it feels like Smaug is peering into his _soul_ , and it’s _terrifying_.

Then Smaug booms, in a deep, erotic voice like slick, fresh honey, “Come closer, little one, and let me have a look at you.”

Bilbo takes a step forward, as though seized by magic to obey, but Ori moves faster. His hand falls from Bilbo’s, and he turns down the steps, hurrying along them without a glance back—as it should be: Bilbo, he reminds himself, is meant to be a secret. He follows Ori anyway, slower, trying to be careful to not displace any of the trinkets scattered along the stairs. It seems to take an absurdly long time to reach the bottom, partially because the air is so hot and stagnant and the stench of _dragon_ is strong in his nose, so much more alluring than tales ever made it seem. He feels in a trance and has to grip the railing at the bottom of the stairs hard, forcing him to hold back. He thinks of Thorin, Thorin’s voice, guiding him, and watches Ori pick through the gold, walking bravely up to the very beast that ravaged his people. 

“An offering for me,” Smaug coos, not really a question. Though he’s terribly loud, Bilbo couldn’t fathom covering his ears. Smaug peers down at Ori, almost going cross eyed in the effort. “It’s been many years.”

“And you’re still as handsome as the stories remember,” Ori calls up. He sounds a tad nervous, finally fearful, but his knees aren’t shaking half so much as Bilbo’s. Ori seems to hesitate, then coughs, and announces like a true Dwarven scribe with remembered words instead of weapons, “I am Ori of the Blue Mountains, and I give myself as tribute to the great dragon Smaug on behalf of my people. If you will have me, you may do with me as you wish.” Then he bows low, like they all first did on Bag End’s doorstop. When Ori professed to be at Bilbo’s service back then, Bilbo never imagined it would be anything like this. When Ori bends, Bilbo gets a nice view of his round rear spilling out of his panties, the fabric tight across his cheeks and trying to hold them together. Smaug’s smile seems to grow: perhaps he enjoys the gesture. 

As Ori rises, Smaug’s nostrils flare, and a puff of smoke wafts out around Ori’s body, teasing beads of sweat to the surface. He shivers, either from the heat or the touch, and when the steam reaches Bilbo, he finds himself shivering, too. Smaug seems to study Ori, then languidly decides, “I will have you.” His smirk becomes absolutely predatory, but from what Bilbo can see, Ori doesn’t lose any of his resolve.

There’s a sudden, overwhelming flash, where Bilbo’s too startled to scream, his mind reeling back to Gandalf’s show in the goblin’s keep. Even when it passes, he’s dazed, rapidly blinking to try and regain his vision—he has to grip the railing for support. Ori, only a few meters away, stumbles to his knees, the coins make light, tinkling noises as they shift around his legs. Where the dragon used to be, a different shape now stands. 

Bilbo has to clasp a hand over his mouth to keep his gasp down. Smaug has become a _Man_ , just as Thorin said, but it was an absentminded, utterly absurd comment outside, and it’s quite a different thing to see in person. It’s definitely Smaug—unmistakable—his skin is brown, reddish in places, with a texture like scales and the same round, golden eyes. He has a thick matt of dark, wavy hair, red horns protruding from it to match the bat-like wings that stem from his back. A tail sweeps down his leg to curl around his feet, far smaller but otherwise not so much different than before. He’s thin, but strong, tall with broad shoulders, his facial features alien but fiercely _handsome_ , like all of him. Bilbo’s in awe, trying to look everywhere, memorizing everything. Smaug has a flat, hairless chest and a chiseled stomach, with a long, fat cock jutting out between his legs, _huge_ , even while flaccid. The end is pointier than Bilbo’s used to, the veiled foreskin almost like an arrow. And it points down at Ori. 

Ori lets out a moan that Bilbo can hear all too clearly. He tries to shake his head—this is it—he needs to look for the Arkenstone—but it’s so _hard_ to look away from the gorgeous men before him. Ori mumbles breathlessly, “The stories don’t do you justice, Smaug. You are _magnificent_.”

Smaug’s smirk is now plain to see, to interpret. He reaches out one hand, his fingers gnarled and pointed like claws, and he runs his fingers back through Ori’s thick hair. Ori tilts his face back, gasping, eager to go where he’s bid, but Smaug is only examining him. Then Smaug’s fingers curl into a fist, and he gives Ori a little tug—Ori grunts but rises instantly, much stouter than Smaug. It’s still far more manageable, when Smaug’s true form made Bilbo think it impossible. Perhaps Smaug really will _use_ him.

It’s not Bilbo’s concern. With a great effort of will, he forces himself to turn, to creep along the edge of the nearest gold hill, his feet very careful not to move anything. His eyes skim the land before him, but they keep being drawn back to the hall’s other occupants. Ori stands obediently still with his arms slack at his sides, and Smaug dips his hand between Ori’s legs, cupping Ori’s crotch. Ori’s breath catches, and Smaug draws it up, kneading it slowly, while Ori trembles and looks at Smaug with pink, parted lips and half-lidded, hazy eyes. When Smaug squeezes, Ori’s eyes close, brows knitting together, and he lets out a needy, desperate moan, followed by a faint, “ _Smaug._ ”

“Yesss,” Smaug hisses, pulling Ori closer, so that Ori has to put his hands against Smaug’s chest to steady himself. “You are a pretty thing...”

Bilbo moves slowly around them, telling himself lamely that he’s not straying too far intentionally—it wouldn’t be fair to leave Ori in a dragon’s clutches, even though Ori looks all too happy to be there. A sudden muffled cry draws Bilbo’s attention, and when his head wrenches back, he finds Smaug holding Ori’s face tight against his, bending to latch their mouths together. Ori’s jaw is open wide, and when Smaug pulls back a centimeter, Bilbo can see his thick tongue between them: it seems to have grown into a great, hulking thing, filling all of Ori’s mouth. Spit trickles out along Ori’s lips, down his chin, and when Smaug wrenches out, Ori’s trembling so violently that he can’t stand. Smaug’s tail shoots up to catch him, locking tight around his knees and keeping him in place. Ori’s mouth is still hanging open as though he’s lost the ability to close it, and Smaug chuckles fondly, thumbing Ori’s lips and licking lightly at his teeth. Then Smaug’s tongue plunges back in, his hands lifting to claw at Ori’s chest. He takes two fistfuls of Ori’s breast and _squeezes_ , until Ori screams into his mouth.

Bilbo takes a seat in the gold. He can’t walk—he just can’t—he can’t concentrate enough not to ruin everything, not with their noises and their _smell_ —it’s so intoxicating—the whole hall reeks of _dragon_ and the thick must of _want_ , of _sex_. It’s like Bilbo’s become an animal with pheromones calling him to mate, and it’s torture to resist. He tries to look down at the gold before him, stubby fingers carefully raking through it, but in his peripherals, he’s watching Smaug play with Ori’s tits. Smaug squeezes them tight, palms them, runs two index fingers down to Ori’s nipples and rolls them around. When Smaug first pinches Ori’s pert nipples, Ori releases a stifled gasp and squirms against Smaug’s body. Smaug holds him in place, still claiming his mouth. Smaug twists Ori’s nipples, finding a better grip, and tugs them forward, not too hard but none too gentle—it’d certainly be rough play for a hobbit, though perhaps not so much for a dwarf. Ori keeps arching his chest forward, like trying to push himself further into Smaug’s hands. Smaug quickly obliges. 

_The Arkenstone_ , Bilbo repeats in his head, over and over, trying to say it in Thorin’s voice to keep him level, although that just makes him want to play with Thorin’s tits. Thorin has such broad, plump breasts, flat but beefy and full, smattered with dark hair, rising off his chest—they’d probably be so soft in Bilbo’s hands, but plush and firm—

Shivering, Bilbo drags himself forward, carefully moving a chandelier and setting aside goblets. A big, white stone. That’s what he’s looking for. _He’ll know it when he sees it._ He’s not so sure. He can hear all of Ori’s noises, filthy and wanton, and Smaug purrs, “What pretty wrappings you come in, dwarf. You put much effort into this. You must want me very, very badly...”

“I do,” Ori insists, moaning weakly. “I carried them all the way from the Blue Mountains, but I didn’t wear them until today, for you...” Smaug chuckles fondly, and Bilbo gulps. The Arkenstone, the Arkenstone. Bilbo uncovers a trunk and covertly unclasps the lid, finding an array of white jewels inside—the Arkenstone, perhaps? He hears the gold clinking behind him, and then Ori’s harried, “Oh, _oh!_ ” 

He has to _look_. Ori’s on his knees, trembling almost violently, his thighs spread wide and the long, red tail wrapped around one of them, squeezing to make his flesh bulge around it. Ori throws one of his hands over his mouth, liking trying to stop the constant slew of noises, but it’s no use. His other hand is on Smaug’s leg, and his head tosses back, staring adoringly up at the towering dragon, who has his fingers cupping Ori’s chin. Smaug has to bend nearly in two to brush his lips against Ori’s, and then he gives Ori’s a hard shove. Ori falls onto his back, his legs spread in the air, and Bilbo can see between them that the panties are stretched obscenely open, Smaug’s tail stuffed inside. Ori scrambles to sit up on his elbows, but he goes no further. Smaug slinks down like a hunting animal, which in a way, he is. Ori’s his poor prey. 

Smaug crawls over Ori on all fours, and he hisses into Ori’s ear, still loud enough for Bilbo to pick up the deep vibrato, “Take off your panties, little one.”

Ori’s skull hits the gold, and his hands, shaking, reaching down for his hips, pushing at the frilled sides of his underwear, trying to scrunch them down, but he only gets them stretched across his thighs before Smaug’s claws fly around Ori’s wrists. He pins Ori’s arms down, splayed out at his sides, while Ori’s stout cock lifts off his stomach, leaking at the head. The tail is still below it, and when Ori’s body jerks, Bilbo gets an idea of where it is—it must be _inside_ him, filling up his hole. Ori’s a flurry of gasps, hitching at irregular intervals: perhaps more stabs of the tail. He doesn’t look hurt, but Bilbo’s past worrying about that. Now he wonders if Ori will even _want_ to be rescued. He looks so very lost in the dragon’s clutches. 

Bilbo feels too hot for his coat. His thighs are clamped tightly together. He dips his hands into the open trunk, feeling around for a larger stone while he watches Smaug’s long tongue curl down Ori’s body, lapping over his throat, his breast, flaying against his nipples before tracing his stomach. When Smaug’s head disappears between Ori’s legs, Ori’s hips are suddenly lifted into the air, Ori crying out and arching, and Smaug stares between them, sneering happily, “ _Perfect_.” The tail yanks away, leaving Ori to collapse, groaning. His legs are already spread wider than Bilbo’s could even go, but Smaug takes them beneath the knees and picks them back anyway, bidding Ori to hold them up. Ori takes hold of his legs to keep his rear on display, his puckered brim stretched open and dribbling a thick, goopy liquid that glistens in the firelight. It’s clear enough from where Bilbo’s sitting, but of course he wants to move _closer_ and stare into Ori’s ripe opening. Smaug spits on it, adding more lubrication, and then he hikes the panties up a little higher, though he leaves them on. Bilbo would, too—they look perfect on Ori, even better now that his skin’s flushed pink to match the purple. 

Only when Smaug presses the bulbous tip of his cock to Ori’s opening does Bilbo look away. He likes a big cock as much as anyone, but Smaug is so very enormous that Bilbo can’t help but think it looks _painful_. He’s sure he wouldn’t survive, speared on such a thing. Fortunately, he’s just the burglar. He closes the trunk again and crawls slowly around it—no Arkenstone there. He’s just settling on another mound when he hears Ori _scream_.

Wincing, Bilbo looks away, fingers digging into the hill of coins while Smaug is distracted, but Ori’s scream just goes on and on. Smaug lets out a deep growl that covers part of it, and a wave of _heat_ seems to burst from them, the smell spiking, and Bilbo has to be still for one moment, dizzy and trying to recover. He wants to tear his coat away, but he can’t—the ring won’t protect it then—but he’s sweating profusely beneath it. Ori’s shriek only stops when his voice breaks, becoming hoarse, and suddenly the clatter of coins sounds again. Bilbo gives in, glancing to where Ori’s being plowed into the gold. From Bilbo’s new position, he can see Smaug’s taut ass dimpling when it thrusts forward, burying into Ori, pulled up as quickly as it pushed down. Ori’s hands have left his legs, now clinging weakly to Smaug’s hair, and Smaug allows the touch, his arms to either side of Ori’s body and keeping Ori’s knees in place. He shoves inside again, pulls out, slams forward, and Ori cries out on each one, the slapping sounds of their flesh and the jingling of fallen trinkets now drowning out his raspy voice. Smaug occasionally roars in delight, clearly enjoying his new vessel.

Smaug fucks Ori at a hard, relentless pace, so rough that Bilbo’s sure it would break him. Ori, sweet though he is, is still a dwarf, and takes it, seems to love it—his cries are tinged in pleasure, even to Bilbo’s inexperienced ears. The repetitive nature of their fucking should make it easier for Bilbo to look away and work, but it doesn’t. His body’s full of the sounds, scent, heat of it, and his mouth waters to wonder what their sex _tastes_ like, his hands yearning to _feel_. Yet he thinks of Thorin, and that pushes him forward. He searches for the one stone that will make Thorin smile, trying to block out the sound of Ori being mercilessly pounded into the gold in the background. 

Somehow, Ori manages one last grand, wild cry, and Bilbo knows it’s the final one. Somehow, he knows that Ori’s lost it, that his short cock’s bursting across his stomach, that he’s losing his mind in the midst of the best orgasm he’s ever had. Bilbo has to stop searching—he’s shaking too hard—and then he _breaks_ , and he shoves his hand against his crotch, palming the thick bulge to Ori’s lewd screams. Smaug’s sounds are just as bad, just as erotic, so painfully addicting. Bilbo covers his mouth to hold back his sobs, ashamed of himself but _so turned on_ , and he looks back at their coupling. Ori’s thighs are splattered with his release, and Smaug’s eyes are alight with sheer _fire_.

He pulls out suddenly, Ori’s mouth going wide but having no more air, and Bilbo _stares_ , seeing everything of the way the huge shaft slips out of Ori’s pink, puckered muscles. Smaug climbs to his feet, insanely steady, and he stands over Ori, grabbing onto his cock and hissing. He comes instantly, and his seed covers Ori like a river, painting him from the top of his head to the curve of his ass, his feet still in the air. Ori squeaks and shuts his eyes, but he doesn’t turn away, taking the full brunt of it across his face. Smaug just keeps pumping and pumping, an unbelievable amount, and finally he falls back to his knees, points the tip at Ori’s hole, and pushes the rest inside. Ori _writhes_ but takes it. When his mouth opens, Bilbo can see the seed caked on his tongue and leaking out the corner of his mouth. It’s slick across his cheeks, his nose, even up into his hair. His stockings are a mess, the panties soaked, a bubbling glob clinging to his belly button. Smaug’s grin is ravenous. He’s thoroughly marked his offering, and he looks quite satisfied with his newest acquisition. 

Then Smaug’s head turns, and his eyes pierce Bilbo, looking straight at him. Bilbo’s heart nearly stops beating, his hand stilling against his crotch. Ori dizzily turns his head, but it’s too late. Smaug’s tongue slips between his bow lips, tracing them hungrily. 

He extends a hand and crooks a finger, cooing, “Come and join us, thief in the shadows.”

Ori hurriedly scrambles to sit, though he grunts in pain for it, and he whines, “Smaug, please—”

“Silence,” Smaug hisses, hushing Ori instantly. To Bilbo, Smaug purrs, “Did you truly think I wouldn’t be able to smell another creature in my home? Even over this one’s poignant want, I can _smell_ your desire. Now, come and join us, thief, or I’ll roast your sacrifice alive.”

Bilbo’s sickly grateful for the threat—it’s an excuse for what he wants. He plucks the ring off his finder and pockets it, telling himself it’s to protect Ori, and he sees Smaug’s eyes flash at the sight of him. While Bilbo clambers over, Smaug eyes him, murmuring, “A pity you are not fittingly dressed as well.” If possible, Bilbo’s cheeks get even redder. He might’ve agreed to wear lingerie, if he knew this is what he’d find. 

Bilbo comes to stand beside Smaug, Ori still kneeling between them, and Bilbo tries to stand tall like Thorin would, but instead he keeps fidgeting, awkward and self conscious, trying desperately not to look down at Smaug’s potent cock. After a moment of examination, Smaug purrs, “You’re cute, too, little one. Even if you are a thief and a voyeur. ...Perhaps if you both put on a nice show for me, I’ll even forgive your crimes and let you leave.”

Bilbo squeaks, “What?” All the blood’s draining from him, pooling at his crotch, and it makes it difficult to think, especially with the musk in the air. 

Ori whines pitifully, “But I don’t want to leave; I’m supposed to be for you.”

Smaug chuckles affectionately, looking down through his long lashes at his ripe offering. “You are pretty, dwarf, but you betrayed me, and there are no clothes alluring enough to distract me from that. Now, entertain me with your friend, and be grateful your plush body has put me in a benevolent mood.”

Ori dons a pout, and he mutters, “I’m sorry...” but it’s obvious that Smaug isn’t interested in his pleas. Bilbo thinks they’re getting off marvelously well—it was a foolish plan anyway, and though he wants to give Thorin the Arkenstone, he also wants to please Smaug. He almost feels like he’s in a trance, but it isn’t quite that, more just his own body betraying him, because Smaug is so dreadfully _beautiful_ and Ori teased him to arousal before they ever set foot in this place. While Bilbo sways in uncertainty, Ori turns to him, mumbling sadly, “How do you want it, Bilbo?”

Bilbo just blinks numbly at him. It’s not something Bilbo consciously thinks about, certainly not something he talks about, and his tongue feels too thick in his mouth when he tries to speak. He’d like Ori any which way, but he doesn’t know what Smaug wants them to do, and he looks down at Ori’s cock, hanging, now half-hard again, over the edge of his panties, his entire body coated in Smaug’s seed, and Bilbo licks his lips, hungry, murmuring, “Maybe... um... maybe sucking...?” He thinks he might like to suckle Ori’s cock, and Ori nods like he understands. 

But then he presses forward, opening his mouth, and he presses it against Bilbo’s trousers. Bilbo cries out instantly, Ori’s hot breath wafting through the fabric, wetting it. Ori’s big nose presses against his stomach, and Ori’s fingers fumble with his belt. Smaug steps in to help, having to bend against to reach Bilbo’s waist. He tugs the belt away and opens Bilbo’s coat, and Ori pulls down Bilbo’s hem, letting Bilbo’s cock leap out into the air. It’s rock hard by now, pointing straight at Ori’s face, and Ori runs his tongue along the shaft, Smaug’s seed already swallowed down. The next thing Bilbo knows, Ori’s taking Bilbo’s tip into his mouth, sucking _hard_ , and Bilbo gasps, fingers flying into Ori’s hair. He gets some of Smaug’s seed on his fingers, but he doesn’t care. Ori looks so cute with the creamy white liquid smeared across his nose. He pushes down Bilbo’s cock, smoothly taking more and more, not stopping to gag or choke like Bilbo always does—Ori’s clearly not as innocent as he seems, though probably still more so than Fíli and Kíli. He borrows all the way down to Bilbo’s balls, nose flattening against Bilbo’s honey curls, and Smaug chuckles over Bilbo’s shoulder, “I suppose there are advantages to little cocks on little creatures. Does his throat feel good, thief?”

Bilbo doesn’t have the wherewithal to answer, and he tries to nod but isn’t even sure about that—he has no coordination. He just _stares_ at Ori, who pulls nearly all the way off before sliding neatly back down, working into a quick rhythm that seems like nothing compared to Smaug’s brutal fucking. Ori bobs up and down on Bilbo’s cock, while one of Smaug’s hands runs down Bilbo’s chest, stretching the neck-hole of his tunic, and a long tongue curls around the tip of his ear, flicking at the little point. Into it, Smaug purrs, “Give my present a nice drink, thief. He looks thirsty.” Bilbo shudders, obeying without meaning to. 

His cock shoots into Ori’s mouth while he’s still at the back of Ori’s throat, and Ori makes a single choked noise before struggling to regain himself. He swallows quickly, and the fluttering of his walls milks another jet out of Bilbo, then another, and he doesn’t come anywhere near as much as Smaug, but it’s still one of the most intense orgasms of his life, and his vision dances behind his eyes as he pours into Ori’s mouth. Ori sucks him, swallows around him, milks it out and mewls, the vibrations ricocheting up Bilbo’s tremor-wracked body. If Smaug weren’t holding him up with one arm, he’d fall. He can’t take it. He’s probably screaming but can’t be sure, and then it’s over, and he’s falling slowly down, with Ori’s mouth slipping off him. 

Smaug lets go of him, and Bilbo falls right on his rear. Ori instantly turns to Smaug, whimpering and placing kisses along Smaug’s legs, reaching up to lick Smaug’s huge cock, though there’s no way he could fit it in his mouth. Smaug stares down at him, musing, “Perhaps things can be... negotiated.” Smaug glances back at Bilbo and dictates harshly, “Go. I will send this one up after another round.” Ori’s face lights up with hope, and he hurriedly drops down, turning on all fours and pressing his face to the gold. He lifts his ass up like an animal presenting, and Smaug snarls in delight, immediately falling on to him. Ori’s mounted, his face pure ecstasy. Bilbo has to struggle not to beg to join them. 

_The Arkenstone. Thorin._ Vaguely remembering his friends, Bilbo turns and _runs_. Only when he’s nearly at the exit does he think to do up his trousers and hold his coat together, and he wonders how in the world he’ll explain his empty hands and wet clothes to his not-yet King Under the Mountain.


End file.
